


All That Matters in the End

by Wings_and_Feet



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Childhood Trauma, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Memories, Okumura Eiji Needs a Hug, Redemption, Sing Soo-Ling Is a Good Kid, The Power Of Love, Yut Lung is lost, bad memories, caring is what it's really all about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29051784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wings_and_Feet/pseuds/Wings_and_Feet
Summary: The parallels between the lives of Ash Lynx and Yut Lung Lee cannot be denied. Both beautiful, both brilliant, both broken.Yet Ash found love, friendship, peace, redemption...And Yut Lung wants, no needs, to know why.His search for understanding becomes a roadmap to regaining his humanity and perhaps the path to his redemption.
Relationships: Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji, Lee Yut-Lung & Sing Soo-Ling, Okumura Eiji & Sing Soo-Ling
Comments: 26
Kudos: 27





	1. Obsession

**Author's Note:**

> This story is almost completely cannon compliant and takes place between the end of the anime and the beginning of Garden of Light. 
> 
> There are flashbacks to some pretty dark experiences that involve both Ash and Yut Lung's childhood abuse. It's not particularly graphic, but it IS rather disturbing. Honestly if you're reading in this fandom, you're probably ok with anything you'll come across, but head's up.

“Excellent. I’ll expect daily reports.” He listened to his contact talk, idly. He didn’t really care about surveillance equipment or schedules. He wanted information. He wanted results. “Just surveillance for now. That’s right. Don’t move unless I give the word.” He stopped to consider the data he already had. “Or unless the boy moves to harm himself.”

The man kept talking. He was already so tired of this. “No, you idiot. I don’t care if he drinks. I care if he dies.” He looked at the glass in his hand. His fifth...sixth?...of the day. “Let the useless weakling suffer. Just don’t let him kill himself. And remember Cho, I found you. I can easily find others. If that boy dies, you won’t survive the night.”

He hung up.

Three assassins. Some of the best in the world. He would have preferred Blanca, but you can’t always have everything. Damned fool had a soft spot for the boy. Overkill? Perhaps. But if he’d learned one thing from the training his brothers had so _lovingly_ provided, it was not to leave things to chance when you didn’t have to. He wondered if they would end up killing each other. He did love it when problems and loose ends solved themselves. Dead assassins didn’t even need to be paid. He sighed, standing to refill his glass.

He flipped through the photos he had received. The boy seemed to mostly be moping. Some physical therapy. False smiles and dinners with family. Boring. Painfully, stupidly boring. What was it about this kid? He seemed to be surrounded by people just as clueless about the uglier realities of the world as he was. God they were all so, so... his impeccable education failed him. He didn’t even have a word to describe this level of, of whatever-the-hell it was. At least the boy looked thoroughly miserable.

“Poor thing,” he chuckled to himself, continuing to flip through photos. He stopped as one caught his eye. Here the brat sported a real smile, eyes sparkling, countenance soft. He held something in his hand. That could potentially be useful. He grabbed a magnifying glass. What was the idiot looking at?

Of course. Of-fucking-course. Brilliant green eyes looked up from the photograph in Eiji’s hands. Of course it was him.

Why him? Why did he deserve that look? What was so fucking special about Ash fucking Lynx? Did he deserve happiness? He was a nobody picked up off the streets because he was pretty. He was a whore and a thief and a liar. He was a killer too. Cold and empty and cruel. Smart as well, supposedly. He commanded love and loyalty, from his people, obsession from powerful men like Golzine, and Yut Lung’s eternal, seething hatred. And he was dead. 

The idiot was dead. With a smile on his face. And the whole damned city seemed to be mourning him.

He didn’t have to die. Yut Lung had read the coroner’s report. The stab wound shouldn’t have been fatal. His phone had been in his pocket. Who the hell goes to the library with a gut wound? Why. WHY, damnit? “He chose to love and to die,” Blanca had said. Whatever the hell that meant. He finished his drink and poured another. 

****

It was ten am. A servant silently removed the empty champagne bottle and replaced it. Yut Lung sat, running his fingers through his perfectly maintained hair. It was a feature he was often complimented for. It hadn’t been cut in years. Champagne was lovely, he decided. It gave him distance from his thoughts. He was buzzed enough that he didn’t immediately remember the men that had fisted their hands in it, used it to drag him down to their…

No. No. That was Then. He was a child, weak and helpless. Then his brothers had owned him, whored him out to prove that they could. He was beautiful, a pretty doll that they had encouraged others to play with and then discard. He wasn’t theirs anymore. They were gone. Because he was smarter, stronger, better. He slipped his fingers up carefully, feeling for the drugged needle that would pierce any hand foolish enough to grip his hair now. He smiled. There was no joy in it. Hardly any satisfaction. But there was something. 

No one would ever decide for him again. None of his tormentors were still alive.

Fury curled in his belly. It felt good. It was warmer than the emptiness. He hated the cold. He took out the picture again, unfolded it and looked at the face. He traced the small smile. He looked so peaceful, dying painfully with his face pressed against a blood smeared page. His brow drew down, and his hand clenched, crumpling the printed photo into his fist. He threw it from him but then scrambled after it before the balled paper could roll into the fireplace. The room spun throwing off his balance, and he stumbled. Foolish. He could always have another printed. 

He flattened out the page, folded it neaty and slipped it back into his pocket.

He had expected to feel happy, to feel free. To feel something. He won. He WON! And the monsters that had never had the decency of hiding under his bed were gone, dead or worse. But he didn’t feel happy. Everything felt flat, empty, colorless and dull. Everything but this. 

That smile prodded his mind. Why? Why? Why?

The gun at Ash’s temple, no question. No hesitation. No regret. 

It wasn’t a show. He hadn’t known. He’d been legitimately confused that the gun wasn’t loaded. Ash hadn’t wanted to die. He was sure of it. In fact he’d gone over the surveillance footage. Blanca had kept his mouth away from the camera’s but Ash hadn’t bothered. Reading lips was something drilled into him so young that it had become nearly as reliable as actually hearing a voice. 

“I know there’s at least one person in this world who cares about me. Who doesn’t want anything from me. Do you have any idea what that’s like? I never did... not once in my entire life—until now. It’s the best feeling in the world.”

The words, _the smile_ , were burned into his brain. Yut Lung had watched the tape until every move, every nuance, every tiny expression were engraved on his memory. Ash meant what he said. Clutching his ribs with a mouth full of blood, knowing what was to come, he was utterly, completely sincere. The best feeling in the world? How could it be? What was he missing?

Yut Lung knew about choosing not to fight in the moment. He knew what it was to welcome the idea of death. But that wasn’t what had happened. He suppressed the urge to throw his glass. He’d tried that already. It didn’t help.

Sing had visited that morning. He’d drawn a gun, and Yut Lung had honestly thought “finally” for a moment. But the child didn’t shoot. Instead he talked and made demands and behaved as though anyone anywhere gave two and a half shits what he wanted. And yet, it would be nice to have a goal he understood. Dragging people to heel was what he was trained for. 

Sing was a child playing at being a boss. And he wasn’t as clever as he thought he was. As if a demand from a little boy would stop him from going after what he wanted. As if staying here in New York would stop him from reaching for his prize. He wondered if Sing somehow knew about his team of specialized killers. There wasn’t much he could do if he did. 

Still the brat was useful. He’d give him that. And he had passion. Shorter had had that too. According to his brother, Shorter had commanded the kind of respect Sing was clearly beginning to garner. He envied them. Chinatown isn’t safe...who cares? They did, he supposed. But they didn’t matter. Business was booming. Frightened people were more likely to buy their escape in the form of illicit chemicals offered by the Lee family business.

It was an interesting project though, sorting out Chinatown. It was something to do, while he waited. He could be patient. He was good at it. Not like that hot headed fool that everyone seemed to love. He could be calm. He could wait. He would. It had taken him ten years to avenge his mother. 

He would crack the code of shy little Eiji Okumura much faster.

But while he waited, he’d ‘help’ Sing bring Chinatown under his thumb. 

***

It was a struggle some days, to force himself to get out of bed. He tried for a week just not bothering. He didn’t brush his hair, didn’t get dressed, didn’t work through his kata. What was the purpose of keeping his body honed like a precious blade? What was there to defend? 

On the fifth day, Sing Soo-Ling showed up. Again. He had dragged himself to the lounge in honor of the event. Doubtless the little beast had some other issue near and dear to their “Chinese Brothers” that he wanted Yut Lung to deal with. Oh please. 

He waved his hand and a terrified servant scurried forward to fill his glass. If Ash put a gun in his hand and told him to shoot himself in the head, he wondered idly what he would do. He used to know. Living. Surviving. Those used to be his victory. When the men you hate want you dead, living is the ultimate act of revenge.

Now though? Now he was forced to listen to a garishly dressed teenager with atrocious manners rant about lost revenue from tourists or dirty heroin or some other nonsense. No one wanted him dead, at least not in a real, personal sense. Would Shorter have killed him by now, if he had lived? Would Yut Lung have tried to stop him? He sighed. A snag in his nail caught his attention. He’d need to buff that out. Perfection in appearance was necessary.

Pausing in his impassioned speech, Sing stalked over to his wine bucket, removed the chilling bottle of champagne, and upended the ice water over Yut Lung’s head. Yut Lung sputtered first in shock and then in fury and then...he began to laugh. It was so ridiculous. It was hilarious.

Here’s this punk-ass street rat with six guns suddenly trained on him yelling, Yelling, at Yut Lung Lee. In his own home. 

“These are your people!” Sing growled. “At least pretend to care.”

Yut Lung howled, holding his sides. He might be drunk, but finally, finally something besides the alcohol or his impotent fury felt warm in his core. He wiped tears from his eyes. “Stand down,” he gasped, still fighting back fits of giggles. “Go away.” He waved off his guard.

Sing stood before him seething. 

“Sit. Sit.” He gestured toward the dry chair across from him. Sing sat gingerly on the very edge of the seat, watching him warily as he stood, stripping off his wet clothing and reaching for a robe. He wondered if his nudity made Sing uncomfortable. He had never been allowed any sort of body modesty. One got used to it. But he did wonder.

He settled himself on the opposite side of the lounge, snickering again at the wet cushions. “Forgive me, Sing. What is it that is so vital to discuss?”

Sing began to explain how muggings were so common there had been an article in the Times. Tourists were avoiding Chinatown. Businesses were losing money. “We need to get the hoodlums under control. These aren’t my guys. But there’s so much chaos. Chinatown has been run by the Lees for generations. This is your responsibility.”

“Yes. Fine. I’ll take care of it.”

“Are you even sober enough to remember it?” Sing spat.

Yut Lung bristled. How dare he. How fucking DARE he. But the anger ebbed as soon as it rose. “What made you decide to douse me with ice water?” he surprised himself by asking. “Is it something he did?”

Sing seemed genuinely confused. “He who?”

“Who else? Eiji Okumura, of course. Did he do things like that to the Lynx?” He could feel his body language shift, giving away his investment in the answer. Ash would have noticed, but Sing? Sing was no Ash. 

“Um, yes? Maybe? I never saw anything quite like that, but Bones told me once about a time that…” and he was off on some over-enthusiastic retelling of waking fucking Ash Lynx up from a goddamned nap. Eiji could touch him. _Eiji_ could tease him. Eiji _Eiji_ **_Eiji_**. He hated him. He truly deeply hated him.

Why? Eiji had the chance to end it, to save his precious Ash in some real meaningful manner instead of just getting in his way and feeding him food he hated. HIS servants wouldn’t dare try to change his diet. They knew their place. But poor, pure, pathetic Eiji couldn’t pull the trigger. Yut Lung still wonders about that night. Maybe his failure was why he hated him so much.

He had told Ash all about it. Gleefully. Ash hadn’t cared. He seemed...glad. _Glad_ that his associate was too worthless, too pathetic to remove a threat.

Patience be damned. Surveillance wasn’t providing the answers he needed. It was time to do something more drastic.

“...so, I guess that’s why I thought of it. I mean sometimes I guess what a guy needs is to not be treated like the boss, right?” Sing looked at him. Yut Lung wasn’t sure what his face betrayed, but Sing stood abruptly. “Well, anyway, thank you for your time. When should I expect instructions regarding the crime problem in Chinatown?”

“I didn’t say you could leave, Sing. In fact, I have decided, just now, that you are going to stay here and entertain me. I’m so dreadfully bored.”

“What about--”

“Yes. Yes. Of course. I’ll send some men to impress upon those thugs that that is not how we do business.” He rang a little bell on his table. Two men entered, both giving Sing a wary glance. One smirked when Sing blanched as Yut Lung explained how many men should die and in what ways before sending them off. Of course he noticed. He noticed everything. He debated having the guard punished. Smug son of a bitch. If Sing was weak, that was for him to deal with, not some nobody guard. Yut Lung decided to see to it later.

Decision made, he couldn’t resist a smirk of his own. “Squeamish, Sing?” he asked, eyeing the younger boy coolly. “You wanted the problem solved. By sundown it will be solved.”

“But...why kill them?”

“It is both effective and efficient. They were a problem. Now they are not.” God this boy was tiresome. Why had he insisted he stay?

“Ash never kills--killed-- unless he absolutely had to. Neither did Shorter. And they never had these kinds of problems.”

“You think I handled it incorrectly, Sing?” His cold eyed stare seemed to dare him to contradict an order from the head of the Lee family. Gone was the half-drunken teen who looked at him with madness and sorrow. Here now was a dangerous and powerful man.

Sing swallowed. He hated these moments. He knew Yut Lung was brilliant. And deadly. But at times like these, when his flat, emotionless viper-eyes looked at him in challenge he could feel his life hang in the balance. If there were any other choice, he wouldn’t be here. But for now, Yut Lung wasn’t so much the lesser of two evils as the only available option. A good boss keeps his guys safe if he possibly can. He’d learned that from bosses who commanded not just respect, but a wary sort of love. He missed Shorter. He missed Ash.

He _had_ Yut Lung. It would have to do.

“No.” Yut Lung raised an eyebrow and waited. “Sir.”

*** 

In exchange for his “help” with Chinatown, Yut Lung demanded Sing visit him twice a week. The first few visits were stilted, awkward affairs that ended when Yut Lung lost his temper and either threw something at him or had him evicted from the estate. On one memorable afternoon it had been both. While always at least superficially composed, Yut Lung was rarely sober, which made his moods even harder to predict. Sing suppressed a sigh and settled in for a very very long afternoon of threats and innuendo and maudlin self-pity rotating so quickly that he could never relax, lest he guess wrong and end up another problem that was easily solved. 

He’d forced himself to look at the bodies. They weren’t the first bodies he’d seen. Far from it. But these felt different. They felt...unnecessary.

Still, he had to admit it. It was brutal, but it had worked. In the last week, Chinatown had come under some semblance of fragile discipline. The Lee name was once again whispered in ears that needed reminders. And so Sing continued to babysit the last of the Lee brothers, in turns bowing obsequiously and pushing back angrily.

In all honesty, Sing wasn’t sure why Yut Lung hadn’t called an end to his visits. His reports never lasted more than ten minutes. How long did it take to say, “It’s all working. Things are getting better.” even if you did have to pepper in commentary about how grateful people were and how brilliant the strategy was. Ok, he didn’t _have_ to, exactly. But it was either that or listen to another rant about Ash’s gang, or Ash’s stupidity, or Ash’s beloved Japanese boy. The hole in his life left by Ash and that stupid stupid letter was still too raw at the edges to tolerate Yut Lung’s petulant poking at it. So flattery it was.

Last week, Yut Lung had begun teaching him an ancient Chinese strategy game called Weiqi. He’d looked it up when he got home. In America it was called Go. And the Youtube tutorials had left him more confused than he’d been when he started. Today he was just as lost as last week with the added benefit of a tipsy Yut Lung snidely berating him for his every move. He picked up a stone. Yut Lung raised a judgemental eyebrow.

Fuck it. He moved the stone and sat back to await his inevitable loss. It wasn’t pretty.

A courrier showed up some time after noon. He handed Yut Lung a large manila envelope and bowed himself out. Sing stood. 

“Sit. You may be interested in this too.” Sing sat, trying not to fidget. He was nearly positive that he didn’t want to know what that envelope contained. “Yes look!” Crazed eyes glowed as he showed Sing some sort of document, flashing it too quickly for him to read it. “The little Japanese kitten is coming back. His legs are all better. Isn’t that just lovely news?”

“The Japanese kit--you mean Eiji? Eiji is coming back to New York?” In spite of himself, Sing smiled. He’d missed his friend. He didn’t think he’d ever see him again.

“Oh yes, Sing. Our dear _dear_ Eiji is coming home next month.” Caught up in his own emotions, Sing didn’t think anything of the odd phrasing or wonder how, or better yet _why_ , Yut Lung knew that. A place in his heart warmed as he wondered if he could talk to Eiji--actually talk to him--about how lost he felt. No Ash, No Shorter, not even Lao to guide him. With his guys he had to be in control, in charge. With Yut Lung, it was all about staying on his toes, staying ahead, getting what he needed and getting out mostly intact. The longing he suddenly felt for a real friend overwhelmed his senses. It was the only excuse he had, looking back, for not seeing the danger before it was too late.

Over the next two weeks, Yut Lung and Sing settled into a new routine. They discussed work. Yut Lung asked him questions about Eiji and sometimes Ash. Even Shorter or Cain came up on occasion. He showed Sing the occasional surveillance photo or offered a tidbit of information, mostly about Eiji but sometimes about gangs or drugs or things a boss needed to know. He quizzed him on details, their meanings, and why it might be tactically important to know them. Sing began to notice those fuzzy, seemingly insignificant details on his own. 

When he had pointed out that the latest picture of Eiji had no cane anywhere in sight, implying that he wasn’t even carrying it for security any longer, Yut Lung had actually clapped him on the back and praised his effort. It was...odd. But it felt good to feel like he was finally gaining ground instead of treading water.

And slowly the afternoons shifted. Yut Lung still challenged him at Go. But when he admitted he didn’t understand how to play, Yut Lung had insisted he stay late into the evening really learning the basics. Gone were his snide comments and drunken judgement. He switched to tea in order to keep his mind sharp for the sake of the game. By the time he left, Sing still had no chance of beating the older boy, but he at least understood why he was losing. Now they play at every visit. Sing still always lost. But he was getting better.

As they played, Yut Lung talked. At first his focus seemed to be split evenly between making Sing as uncomfortable as possible and dragging out every detail he could discover about the relationship between Ash and Eiji. The trouble was, Sing didn’t really know much beyond the obvious--they had loved each other deeply, been wholly dedicated to one another’s safety, and kept the details to themselves. The conversations frustrated both of them, and Sing found himself asking questions of his own just to avoid them. 

Asking about the Lee family was almost guaranteed to end in thrown glassware. But Yut Lung was proud of his prowess and knowledge. Thus did Sing’s semi-voluntary education in poisons and pressure points begin. It felt good to know how to take down an opponent in a non-lethal manner. 

Later, Yut Lung showed real curiosity in Sing’s weapon and fighting style, asking for a demonstration and following up with a lesson in a martial arts form Yut Lung particularly enjoyed. Sing liked the way the movements flowed. It looked a little like things he’d seen Ash or Blanca do. He’d keep his knife, but it was interesting. Maybe he practiced it a bit. Hey, it might come in handy.

By the end of the month, Yut Lung hadn’t drunkenly thrown him out for several visits. And his mood had seemed to be improving. In fact, afternoons at the Lee estate had become interesting, even entertaining. So Sing was fully unprepared for what happened.


	2. Abduction

He should have known better. He DID know better. But he had allowed himself to let vague sentiment cloud his judgement. He had let himself believe that he knew what to expect, that Yut-Lung enjoyed his company, that these meetings were about training or mentorship. Yut-Lung wanted him to be a better boss. He knew Yut-Lung was obsessive. He knew he didn’t really care what went on in Chinatown. He knew he was always cold and often cruel. He knew. He just-- How could anyone have expected...this?

When he arrived at the estate, guards grabbed and bound Sing, forcing a blindfold over his eyes. He was pretty sure he’d taken out a few guards during the ambush, but he’d been caught completely off guard. He’d gotten careless, coming and going from the Lee mansion over the past weeks. Yut-Lung had been mercurial, perhaps a bit imperious, certainly infuriating, but Sing had begun to get the feeling that he looked forward to their meetings. He had allowed himself to believe in what he _wanted_ to be true. He cursed himself as he was shoved into the back of a car. Stupid. The driver refused to respond to any of his questions.

He heard Yut-Lung’s chuckle, felt his fingers trace his cheek below the blindfold. The bodies of the problems in Chinatown flashed through his mind. He suppressed a chill. “Yut-Lung! What is happening? Why are you doing this? Where are we going?”

“You’ll see, Sing. It’s a surprise.” He didn’t sound drunk, but he didn’t sound rational either.

“I’ll see what?” There was no reply. “Answer me!”

“No, not yet. I don’t think I will.” Sing felt a needle barely prick his skin. “Do I need to guarantee your cooperation?”

He froze. “No.”

“Good. I have been looking forward to this for a long time, Sing. I would hate to have you ruin it.” Sing felt the needle graze his throat, barely touching as it moved from beneath his jaw down toward his collar bone. “In fact, I won’t allow it.”

Sing swallowed, fighting panic. It had been weeks since Sing was truly afraid of Yut-Lung. How could he have forgotten? “I’ll behave. You have my word. Uh, Sir.”

Yut-Lung’s voice shifted from calm and concise to a vicious purr. Goosebumps rose along Sing’s skin as he hissed, “Did you know? I could kill you five different ways just with this needle alone. I could make it almost painless or I could set the nerves in your body aflame and make you beg for death.” He pricked the skin of Sing’s neck, not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to be felt. Sing could feel his hot breath ghost across his jaw and ear. He could almost feel the vibrations of Yut-Lung’s words against his skin. “I would hate to have to do that, Sing Soo-Ling. I really would. But what I’m working on now. You see, it’s im-por-tant.” Each syllable was punctuated with another not-quite prick of the needle. 

Suddenly, Yut-Lung sat back away from him, voice once again calm and conversational. “So I’m very glad you understand and agree to not interfere.” 

Sing shivered.

  
  


***

“Surprise!” Yut-Lung whipped off his blindfold and spun him in a half circle with a grand gesture, grinning--though the smile didn’t touch his eyes. “Look!” He gestured like you might to a child being shown their long-coveted birthday gift.

Blinking against the sudden light, Sing turned, taking in the room, the view out the window in the warm afternoon sunlight, and the body in the room with them. At least he was breathing! His knees shook, not quite buckling as he took in the full unhinged insanity of the moment.

“What-What have you done?” he rasped. Sing stared in horror at the unconscious form on the bed. A bed in a room in a shockingly familiar apartment. “What? Why? How?” He wanted to scream. He could feel the fury, the fear burning under the surface, but his voice was strangled, barely a whisper. A tiny bruise showed just under Eiji’s ear, as he slept his drugged sleep in the apartment--in the bed-- he had shared with Ash last year.

Yut-Lung looked at him impassively, eyes flat, devoid of any human feeling. Sing was once again reminded of a snake. He brushed past Sing, moving to the bedside and running his fingers through the sleeping boy’s hair with an odd, detached gentleness. “He is the key.”

“Key? What the hell does that even mean?” Sing could hear the desperation in his tone. “Yu- Lung, what are you doing? You can’t just...kidnap...people. This is crazy!’ His voice was rising. He paused to take a deeper, calming breath, fighting the urge to slap the hand away from his friend. “You have to let him go.”

“You’re wrong Sing Soo-Ling. I can do what I wish.” Sing watched helplessly as Yut-Lung tightened his hand in Eiji’s hair tight enough to cause a grimace in his sleep. “I wanted to destroy the Lee family, and I did. I wanted to take Eiji from Ash, and I did. I wanted you to do my bidding, and you do. Don’t kid yourself, Sing. You rule in Chinatown because it is convenient for me. That is all you are. That is all you will ever be, convenient.” He turned his viper eyes back to Sing. “I am Yut-Lung Lee! I do what I wish. I take what I wish. And what I wish is to **_know_ **.” His voice had begun to rise, but with a deep breath he dropped it back to its usual cultured calm. “I wish to learn what Ash knew. What was the magic thing that let him feel so strongly for this pathetic, useless weakling, that the Lynx chose death?”

“I. Ash l-loved Eiji. He wanted to keep him safe because he cared about him. He-It’s not magic. It’s just...love.” He wanted to be angry, but this was all just so...sad.

“What is love, Sing? Just a set of chemicals, a smattering of ideals and hormones wrapped up in a pretty story.” He went back to petting Eiji’s hair. It was creepy. “I think perhaps my mother loved me. She doted on me at least. She did her best to protect me.”

“I’m glad, Yut-Lung. I’m glad that she loved you.” Sing couldn’t feel his fingertips. Was this what panic felt like? “But, love, love isn’t...this. Yut-Lung, this is--”

“So why wasn’t it enough? Why can I not muster this smile?” He pulled a crumpled photo from his pocket and flung it at Sing. The air caught it, causing it to flutter. Sing watched it as it drifted in a gentle spiral toward the ground. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see, but he bent to pick it up none-the-less. 

He turned it in his hands, not looking at it. Not yet. “Maybe it's more about loving than about being loved?”

Yut-Lung glared, pointing imperiously at the creased and grimy picture in his hands. It was a photo taken in the library, a close-up clearly taken with a telephoto lense. Ash’s cheek lay pale on a table, resting on a smudged, blood-stained paper, wrinkles visible beneath his cheek. His bloody fingers were visible at the edge of the shot, seeming to caress the dirty paper. He was smiling gently. If not for the blood and the truth he knew deeply, Sing could believe he was napping, dreaming of something lovely.

Sing’s heart ached. He had seen the letter, stolen it from evidence in fact, after everything. He had considered burning it. But once he had read it, he couldn’t. He felt wrong having witnessed something so deeply, rawly personal. He felt good too, knowing they had had each other, however briefly. He was still trying to decide if he should send it back to Eiji. But he hadn’t seen the soft look on Ash’s face. It loosened something in him to see him look at peace. 

“How do you have this? WHY do you have this?” He asked, moving to put the photo in his own pocket. 

Yut-Lung snatched it from his hand. “That is mine!” He paused, tracing his fingers over it like a lover might caress an image of their beloved. “Why did he deserve peace? He wasn’t stronger, smarter, better! He was a whore! And a killer. Just like me.” He twirled back toward the bed, pointing an accusing finger. “It’s him! He’s weak. He’s USELESS! How can it be him?” He turned back to Sing, and for the very first time Sing saw Yut-Lung as the child he was, lost and lonely and desperate to understand his own broken heart. “I don’t understand,” he whispered. Then his voice firmed again, once more sounding like steel. “But I will.”

"You-You know he didn't decide to die. Someone stabbed him. This isn't...it wasn't..."  
  


"You're wrong, Sing. I saw him. Twice. Blanca knew. He chose to love and die...And I will know why."

****

If Sing had hoped it would get better when Eiji awoke he was sorely disappointed. 

Watching Eiji smile sweetly as he looked around the room had Sing’s breath catching in his throat. Watching the smile fade, replaced by a lost confusion and then a betrayed hurt broke his heart. When he finally looked up at his two captors, Sing found that he couldn’t meet his eye. 

This was cruel. 

Yut-Lung had purred his demands to Eiji. He had been giddy with excitement as he laid out the requirements Eiji was to meet in order to survive. He taunted and prodded, alternating between giggling madness and cold calculation. The entire time, Eiji held a pillow against his chest, staring out the window at what must be a bitterly familiar view. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t make a sound. A continuous fine tremor ran through his body as he breathed slowly and carefully while Yut-Lung carefully explained his stipulations. 

Sing felt sick. 

Eiji hardly listened as Yut-Lung talked. His head was swimming, from the remains of the drugs in his system or the overwhelming memories, he didn’t know. He glanced at the two men watching him. Sing looked horrified, guilty. Yut-Lung looked...mad. He was finally unhinged, then. Eiji remembered that night, tied naked in bed, forced to come to terms with the horror about to happen to him. He had had nightmares for months. Yut-Lung’s calm acceptance had shocked him. Now, well, now he thought maybe he understood a little better. Ash had talked about being afraid of feeling nothing. It seemed Yut-Lung was too. But...

“No.” Both Sing and Yut-Lung looked shocked at his blunt refusal. Sing even looked a little hurt. “I can’t do it. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. I don’t owe either of you a thing.” As the words left his mouth, the numbness gave way, and he was abruptly furious. It happened sometimes, burning away his grief sometimes for seconds, sometimes for days. It wasn’t better or worse than the guilt, the loss, the crushing pain, but it was different. It always surprised him. It helped to tell himself that it let him understand Ash just a little bit better. He’d felt this helpless rage too, sometimes.

The moment passed and he felt nothing but exhaustion. 

“I didn’t set out to teach Ash anything. I just wanted to be his friend. I just…” He could hear the tears threatening in his voice. “I loved him. That’s all I did.”

Yut-Lung reared back and slapped him, hard enough to knock him back onto the pillow. The pillow did not smell of Ash. It should, in this room. But it didn't. He just lay there, cheek stinging as tears pricked at his eyes.

“Eiji, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Sing flicked his eyes nervously to Yut-Lung. “I didn’t, I don’t… I know you don’t owe us. But he won’t let you go. I know you’re...angry...You have every right. But, I think, I mean, I think he’ll hurt you, Eiji.” Sing flinched as Yut-Lung whipped his head around to look at him, but he did his best to keep looking at his old friend. He had to warn him. He had to at least try.

“I don’t care,” Eiji whispered. “Let him. I can’t do it. I can’t give you something I don’t have. My soul died. He bled to death in a library, stabbed by an assassin that you sent and you,” his eyes flashed his betrayal at Sing, “refused to control.” He sighed. “Go away, both of you. Let me grieve in peace.”


	3. Incarceration

Eiji wasn’t eating. He didn’t respond to Yut-Lung in any way. Not to his questions, nor to his threats. If he was caressed, he stood motionless. If he was struck, he fell. But beyond occasionally moving out of the way, it was like there was a blank void that he simply didn’t recognize. 

If they were alone in a room, he would sometimes acknowledge Sing. Never much. He didn’t engage, but he would thank him for food that he later set aside without touching. He would respond to simple, impersonal questions. He asked about Max, Alex, even Charlie. Occasionally he made a vague effort to reassure Sing about the situation they found themselves in. It wasn’t particularly reassuring. Actually it scared the hell out of Sing, but he was glad of the effort.

Mostly, Eiji moved listlessly around the apartment, making cups of tea he never drank. Sing gathered the cups of cold, untouched liquid and dumped them when Yut-Lung wasn’t looking. He wasn’t sure why, but it seemed important to shelter Eiji any way he could. He also didn’t leave. Not even when Yut-Lung had trained his gun directly between his eyes and pointedly invited him to do so.

He wanted to. Facing down the barrel of that gun, he had wanted to flee, to run from all of it--from Chinatown, from his responsibility, his guilt, Yut-Lung’s madness...He hated this. Every second that he watched cut deeper and deeper. But he couldn’t abandon Eiji. His friend had been quite clear that Yut-Lung would kill him if he decided to kill him. He had said there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. He had said it was pointless to try. He had  _ meant _ that he welcomed it. Eiji didn’t have to say it out loud for Sing to hear it. He was getting very good at hearing what went unsaid.

And each day that didn’t yield the results he wanted led Yut Lung to become less stable, more vindictive. The bruises on his arms and face were visible. If Eiji didn’t bend soon, Yut-Lung would kill him. It was as simple as that. He could see it, clear as day. He didn’t want to see it happen. But he couldn’t force himself away. He didn’t kid himself. He was unlikely to be able to stop it. But still he watched. Maybe this was his penance. 

“Eiji?” Sing spoke quietly, hesitant to interrupt the other boy. He held a book in his hand, though his gaze was locked on the horizon outside the window. He gripped his shoulder gently. “I brought noodles. I convinced one of my guys to bring them all the way from Chang Dai. Um, I’d like to be able to tell Nadia that you liked them.”

So it was emotionally manipulative. Sue him. If Eiji didn’t eat, he’d die --if Yut-Lung didn’t kill him before he starved. And the noodles  _ were _ from Chang Dai, so at least it wasn’t a lie. 

Eiji shrugged his hand off his shoulder, but looked away from the window, actually acknowledging Sing. He’d take the win. Slowly, he took the container. “Thank you, Sing. Tell Nadia I appreciate it.” He took the chopsticks and took a small bite. “I do like them.” 

Sing backed away. He should take the win. But Yut-Lung was already passed out on the couch, drunk and dead to the world. He’d managed to convince him to send his guards away, pointing out that Ash hadn’t had guards in the apartment. They were alone. He looked down at his feet, trying to feel out what he should say. He focused on a slight discoloration in the pristine wood floor, a dark stain of some sort. He ran his toes over it, tracing the edges.

Eiji’s voice was soft. “I guess blood is hard to get out.” Sing snapped his head up. Eiji gestured to the stain. “That spot. Ash tackled me, saved my life. But I still bled on the floor. He scrubbed at it at least a hundred times, but it never came up.” He looked almost fond. Sing stilled as Eiji took another bite. Chewed. “I tried to cover it up with a rug. It so clearly upset him. But he threw it out. He said that we both needed to remember that blood lost became scars that lasted forever.” He hummed quietly through another bite. “I’m almost glad it’s still there. Proof of a sort that it was all real. Proof beyond the scars I’ve had to lie about for the past year.”

“Lie?”

“I can hardly tell my family what really happened. So Ibe created a story of how I was mugged. If you don’t look too closely at the ages of the scars on my arms compared to the one in my abdomen, it almost works.” Eiji sighed and set aside his noodles. “Sing, what are you doing? I know why he’s doing this. But you? Why are you here?”

“I, um, I didn’t know he was planning to kidnap you. I swear. I knew he was obsessed, but I didn’t think," Sing rushed to explain. "I, um, everything fell apart here. My gang was fractured after Lao died. Cain withdrew. Took his men with him. Alex has had trouble holding Ash’s territory. Some guy calling himself Spider was pushing to take over Arthur’s people. And Chinatown was falling apart. Yut-Lung is the last surviving Lee on the American continent. The Lees have always--I’m not Ash. I couldn’t do it by myself.”

“So you traded your soul.” 

Sing flinched. He deserved it, he guessed. But the simple words, spoken quietly and without accusation or recrimination stung like a blade. “I had to protect my brothers. There wasn’t anyone else.”

Eiji was quiet for so long that Sing thought he wouldn’t reply. “Ash built his gang as a wall between himself and Golzine.” Eiji gave a mirthless laugh. It sounded like metal tearing. “Ash, uh, he had told Golzine that if he came for him again, he’d fight. And Golzine asked him ‘you and what army?’ So Ash built an army.” Eiji looked at him for another long, solemn minute. “They idolized him. And he was good to them. He earned their loyalty, and he deserved it. But, yeah. That’s the truth.”

“Why tell me?” Sing remembered Ash telling him he regretted becoming a boss. Damn.

“Because. Ash would have understood. You have to do what needs to be done. Sometimes that means letting yourself be ra-- **hurt** . Sometimes it means taking over the gangs of downtown. And sometimes it means making an enemy into an ally, even if you don’t want to.” He looked at him expectantly.

He had felt so dirty, so guilty. And now, “Thank you, Eiji,” Sing gasped out. He felt like someone had punched him in the chest. His breath caught, lungs refusing to fill properly as he fought past the lump in his throat. “I understand why he loved you.”

The light from the window caught the single tear that slid down Eiji’s cheek, unchecked. He opened his mouth, voice catching on a poorly suppressed sob. “I--” he nodded, seeming to bow slightly from his seated position. 

“Eiji?”

“Yes, Sing?”

“He’s horrible. He’s cruel and he’s dangerous, and I’m pretty sure he’s completely insane.” Sing still couldn’t breathe properly, but he pushed through. “And he’s so terribly, incredibly lonely. He’s hurting, Eiji. He’s hurting, maybe like Ash was hurting. I, I have no right to ask for your help. I know that. But… but you help people, Eiji. You accept them, and you care about them. And I know Yut-Lung thinks it’s a weakness, but Ash knew the truth. And so do I.” Sing felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment but kept going. Maybe he could… He didn’t know. 

“I like to be useful. It’s true. I want to help. I wanted to help Ash, to save him, even though no one else could see how much he needed saving. I, Ash saved me. He cared about people. I saw that right away, the first day. I could tell that Skipper, he trusted Ash. You don’t trust people who don’t care about you Sing. You can’t. Yut-Lung doesn’t care about anyone. I cannot turn his heart back if it is already stone. And you should not trust him.”

“I know.”

“I will help you, Sing.” Eiji’s voice was calm, sure. “If you can trust me.”

“Will you at least answer his questions? Will you try to help him understand?”

“I will try.” Eiji nodded solemnly. “I can promise that. But I am not magic, Sing. I am just me. And Yut-Lung doesn’t trust me. He shouldn’t.”

***

True to his word, Eiji began to cooperate a little bit more. He wasn’t forthcoming, but answered questions. He began eating. He took an interest in maintaining the apartment. He even asked to visit the store on the first floor, to reach out to the housewives he had known. 

Yut-Lung refused out of hand, at first. Sing wore him down, finally getting him to agree that if Sing could beat him at Go, Yut-Lung would allow Eiji to roam at least the building. It wasn’t much, especially since they both knew Sing wasn’t nearly skilled enough to do that anytime soon. But it was something.

Eiji, for his part, seemed to view his situation less as captivity and more like a series of tasks. He showed no fear. Eiji had never been afraid of Ash. He’d been adamant on that point. This was different. Now it wasn’t love or trust or even foolish ignorance. Eiji just didn’t care. And so he took chances. He made demands. And when Yut-Lung wouldn’t meet them, he simply went back to refusing to eat or speak. 

After a few false starts, he had figured out quickly that invoking Ash’s name tended to result in both fury and grudging compliance. 

It was little things at first. “I made breakfast!” 

“What is this? I’m not eating this!” Yut-Lung had moved to shove the plate of fish away.

“Japanese breakfast is good for you. Not too different from Chinese, really. Try it. Ash liked my cooking.” Sing happened to know that wasn’t quite true. He remained silent, however, when Yut-Lung grabbed the plate, yanked it back to himself, and dramatically shoved a bite of fish into his mouth. Eiji later confided that Ash often responded in much the same way to new foods. He had smiled softly, and Sing breathed his first full breath in weeks. 

Yut-Lung seemed to settle once Eiji began to cooperate, however tentatively. Sing even felt safe leaving for a few hours at a time. Living with two men who seemed completely uninvested in their own survival was far from soothing, to say the least. Sometimes he needed to get out of the weird stasis of the apartment. If he didn’t, he began to feel normal there, like it wasn’t totally fucked up that he was living in the apartment his dead friend had owned, with his boyfriend(?) who had been kidnapped by his enemy who was also (sort of) his friend and mentor. Maybe. So yeah. Leaving on occasion was necessary as the days dragged into weeks. 

Besides, somebody needed to look in on Chinatown and make sure Yut-Lung’s associates didn’t get ideas while their boss was distracted. Hell of a devil-you-know situation, but it is what it is. And maybe he didn’t entirely hate Yut-Lung when he was sober. He was interesting to talk to.

Today was certainly interesting, to say the least. When he returned with groceries, he didn’t enter into a quiet space where two stubborn men sullenly ignored one another, or a space filled with quiet conversation, or even one filled with the silence of one passed out drunk and one quietly depressed man staring out the window. No, he entered some sort of screaming daytime-TV-worthy drama. 

Broken dishes littered the floor. A chair was turned over, and some sort of liquid seeped into the carpet. Eiji had bruises darkening around his throat, and Yut-Lung’s hair had pulled free of its intricate style. Both of them were flushed and breathing heavily. 

“Do you have any idea what 15 bottles of Dom Perignon costs?” Yut-Lung screeched like a scalded cat.

“I do,” Eiji growled in return. Sing found himself blinking in surprise. He’d never heard Eiji use that tone. “It costs your dignity. And it costs your clear thinking. It is costing you everything. You wanted me to teach you, so learn this. Ash, in spite of everything that happened-- He never hated himself enough to drink himself stupid. And we did not have alcohol in our home.”

The sound of Yut-Lung’s hand connecting with Eiji’s face reverberated through the room. Eiji barely flinched. “Go sober up. When you are able to actually comprehend my answers, you may ask me three questions. When I have cleaned up this mess, I will make you some good Japanese tea.” And he turned his back and walked away. Holy shit, this kid had no sense of self-preservation.

And yet Yut-Lung, after an aborted move to grab for Eiji, spun on his heel and skulked off to his room.

Eiji closed his eyes as Yut-Lung stormed away. He tried to still his mind, to remember the way Ash sounded when he laughed, to remember his long cool fingers brushing his skin. “I tried to stay by your side. Why didn’t you stay by mine? Why aren’t you _here_?” He could feel tears burning behind his eyelids. He clenched his hands to stop the trembling in his fingers. There was, of course, no answer. He forced his eyes back open. There was work to be done. 

His eyes blinked open to see Sing standing frozen, two bags of groceries still held in each hand. He looked unsure, eyes darting between Eiji and the door Yut-Lung had slammed moments before. 

Eiji’s eyes burned into Sing’s, the look on his face one of overwhelming devastation for a moment before it closed off again. “This was our home, Sing. And now it is a prison. And this, this whatever it is is a mockery.” Eiji closed his eyes again. “This is wrong. Everything about this is wrong,” He whispered.

Sing had no idea how to answer. “I know. I’m sorry.” It wasn’t enough. Far from it. But it was all he had to say. He stepped forward to offer a hug or a pat of reassurance. 

“Please do not touch me right now.” At Sing’s flinch, Eiji tried to steady himself. Sing was just as trapped as Eiji. More so perhaps, because while Eiji was forced to remain here, an oddly pampered prisoner, Sing’s incarceration was self-imposed. Eiji saw him, his guilt, his desperation. He blamed himself for Ash’s death and for this monstrous situation. Sing was still a child, not quite sixteen. And he was and had been a loyal friend. He wasn’t responsible for any of this. He needed Eiji. He had fought for Ash, believed in him right alongside Eiji. And now, in his way, he was fighting for Eiji. And so, although he wanted nothing so much as to be left alone, to pretend for a moment that the broken glass was something one of Ash’s gang had dropped, to live in his memory for just a moment, he took a deep breath and forced as much of the hurt out of his voice as possible. 

“If you want to help, you can put away the groceries and then find something to clean up the wine on the carpet.”

Sing looked grateful to be given a direction. He hurried into the kitchen.

Later that night, after he retreated to his room, Eiji heard two raised voices. They were beyond two closed doors and impossible to decipher even had he had the energy to try. But it made something small bloom in his chest to know that he had an ally.

***

The chasm between the three of them didn’t narrow. Instead, slowly the tightrope they inched across became a plank that was expanding into a bridge of sorts. It was still dizzying to look down and see the disaster that seemed to await a misstep, but the going was certainly less fraught.

After a nightmare week of painful withdrawal, Yut-Lung’s forced sobriety led to significantly fewer outbursts. As Yut-Lung became more reasonable, Eiji became more willing to accede to his questions and demands. In fact, perhaps unsurprisingly, talking about his life with Ash seemed to be helping Eiji too. He ate more, talked more, smiled more.

After months of feeling drawn tight as a bowstring, Sing finally heard Eiji laugh.

He rushed into the room in response to an unholy scream, convinced that Yut-Lung had snapped and done something terrible, only to find him looking grumpily unsettled as Eiji snorted with mirth. At Sing’s open-mouthed confusion, he doubled over cackling.

“What’s so funny?” Yut-Lung couldn’t decide whether he was more surprised or offended. He hadn’t been sure before now that Eiji  _ could _ laugh.

“I’m sorry. I- I just-- You, you big scary killers are afraid of such silly things.” He wiped his eyes, snorting again as he visibly tried to pull himself together. “It’s just a--just a little bug.”

“It’s horrifying. It has legs coming out of its face.” Yut-Lung blushed, glaring. 

“A bug?” Sing asked incredulously. “I seriously thought one of you was being murdered!”

Yut-Lung and Eiji looked at one another. This time when Eiji snickered, Yut-Lung let out a grudging chuckle as well “It was an inch long! This is--this is better than Ash and pumpkins!!!” And Eiji howled again, laughing until tears ran down his face.

“Pumpkins?” Sing questioned, appalled. “Ash screamed bloody murder at pumpkins?” Eiji nodded and Yut-Lung gave up the fight for dignity and laughed along. Sing found himself snickering as well. The longer they laughed, the harder they laughed until all three of them had collapsed onto the couches gasping. Eye contact between any of them resulted in renewed peals of laughter. 

And just as they had finally calmed down, Yut-Lung once again spotted the admittedly creepy looking insect that started the hilarity and screamed again. Even after the bug had been removed, the atmosphere remained jovial.

That night they told stories not as tasks or obligations but as comrades. There was more laughter. And something that had once seemed irretrievably broken began to heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bug is a silverfish. They are legitimately horrible looking.


	4. Recognition

It wasn’t a smooth process, this rebuilding they had begun. But most days the atmosphere was less oppressive. Most days they could pretend to be friends of a sort. They played Go. Eiji taught Sing to cook. Yut-Lung taught them both Tai Chi. Many nights after Eiji went to bed, Yut-Lung and Sing continued to sit up and talk. Initially it was only Yut-Lung taking an interest in the work Sing still managed to do to keep Chinatown under control and Yut-Lung’s organization running. But they also, very tentatively, began to plan for a future outside this odd limbo happening thirty stories above 59th Avenue. 

Yut-Lung began to look to the outside world for activities that challenged his intellect and utilized his skills. Smuggling suited his nature, and the same networks he had used to capture Eiji were put to use looking into new markets. He was surprised to find that expanding into certain new areas legally might actually end up being more profitable. He was less surprised to discover that Sing had a natural head for numbers and an instinct for business.

He insisted Sing get his GED on a whim. But once he began classes, Sing found he enjoyed them. He began to groom a few lieutenants to take over the day to day running of the Chinatown gang, slipping into a more supervisory position. He even began thinking about the possibility of college. Eiji thought is was a good idea, and Yut-Lung didn't say no.

Yut-Lung got Eiji a camera. He even arranged for the three of them to visit a few sites in Chinatown to allow him to use it. The photos seemed to exude the same melancholy gentleness Eiji often did. They were compelling. Sing arranged to send one to Ibe.

That was most days. Most days were good. 

Other days, well, other days it seemed that all their progress slipped away. It was hard to predict, but it usually involved pushing Eiji physically in some way. Sing remembered him hugging Ash often, but he avoids touch now. Yut-Lung seemed compelled to poke at those buttons, almost like he couldn’t help himself. It never ended well. 

Today it had started when Eiji had flinched away from a casual touch. Irritated, Yut-Lung seemed determined to force contact, caressing his hair, wrapping hands and arms around him. Eiji ignored him for most of the morning before finally snapping at Yut-Lung, “Stop touching me. You should know not to touch without permission.”

“Are you so horrified by me, Eiji? Do I truly repulse you?” Yut-Lung fell back into the oily taunting voice and simmering, resentful anger that had been absent for weeks. “Do you think I would force myself on you? Push my way into your bed? Did the Lynx defile you, or are you still pure?”

“Ash never--would never--” Eiji sighed, forcing himself to respond not to the jibe but the question hidden in it. “Can I leave the apartment, Yut-Lung? You want so much to be reassured that I do not hate you. But you cannot trust me as far as the lobby. How could I not be horrified by my jailer? You could do anything to me. I am helpless, yes? Worthless and stupid?” Eiji watched something flash briefly across Yut-Lung’s face, hurt or anger, maybe both. 

It may feel glacially slow at times, but Eiji could see the changes in Yut-Lung over the time he’d been held here. His obsession was shifting more toward a longing and a deep jealousy than something dangerously all-consuming. He was seeking true understanding now, at least most of the time. He wanted to know, maybe something as fundamental as what it meant to be wanted, or even more, to truly want another person. Had anyone ever really cared for Yut-Lung? Had he ever cared for anyone? Sing spoke of his mother, but he had seen her die horribly at only six. Since then, had anyone even seen him as a human being?

Eiji wanted to harden heart, to refuse to even consider the idea that maybe he understood. He wanted to, but he couldn't. Sing was right. He was so very lonely.  Ash’s father had sold him too. It was less calculated, but no less cruel. Perhaps without Shorter or without Alex or Bones, without Skipper, Ash could have been this lost. If it was Ash, Eiji would want someone, anyone, to help him. And so as much as he wanted to turn away, he didn't “I don’t hate you,” he allowed.

"How odd of you to say, Eiji. Because I do hate you" Yut-Lung reached out to touch him again, clearly vindictively hoping to make him flinch away.

Sing stepped in to angrily demand, “Yut-Lung, why do you torment him? If you want what Ash had,” Sing ignored Eiji’s flinch, “If you want that, you must learn to behave as Ash behaved. And he didn’t toy with people.” Both men turned to glare at him, but Sing didn’t become a boss at 14 by being afraid of conflict. “If you have a question, ask it. Otherwise stop touching him. He doesn’t like it. After what you’ve told me, you should understand the idea of not wanting to be touched by someone.”

As if liking or not liking ever mattered. He could hear the voice in his head as hands touched him, groped him, “instructed” him in how to please the next man his family needed to honor or flatter. He hadn’t pleased the last one. They didn’t like little boys who cried. “The sooner you learn that your body is a tool, nothing special, nothing to get upset over, the sooner you will avoid punishment when you come home. This is what you are, Yut-Lung…” He shook his head violently. He felt violated, not by his brother’s touch, he was long used to that. No, it was Sing’s words, Eiji’s reactions. He doesn’t like it? He doesn’t LIKE it? He could feel his face flushing, feel the compulsion to push to demand to--

“Ash didn’t like to be touched, not by most people. Maybe you react differently though? Maybe instead you need to control the touching.” Eiji no longer seemed angry. He looked at Yut-Lung closely. “I will never touch you without your permission. I am sorry for moving you about, for pushing you. You are not Ash. You shouldn’t try to be. And I shouldn’t behave as if you are.”

Yut-Lung looked entirely nonplussed. Was that what he was doing? “I--thank you.”

“Go on, then. Ask your question.”

“Did you share a room from the very beginning? This was your room together, correct? That is what I heard?” Eiji nodded. Yut-Lung looked thoughtful. “Perhaps I should sleep in his room. Perhaps then I will find what he found.”

Sing opened his mouth to argue. This was too far, too much. Eiji’s words still burned in his ears. “This was our home. This is a mockery….”

Before he could speak, Eiji interrupted. “Yes, Ash and I always shared a room here.” Eiji fought with himself. It was just a bed, just a room. Ash was gone, and it didn’t matter. He had tried curling up there more than once. It didn’t hold Ash’s ghost, no matter how much he wished it did. “His bed was by the window. It’s just a bed, and you’ll do what you want anyway, but for what it is worth, I don’t mind if you sleep there.”

***

Eiji didn’t sleep soundly with Yut-Lung in the room. If not for that, he never would have heard the tiny sound that escaped the other man. Instead the near-silent whimper drew him from his own fitful dreams. He sat up, watching quietly in the dim light that leaked into the room past the curtains. Yut-Lung trembles, lips moving almost soundlessly in a plea. “No, please.” His body is rigid, hands gripping the sheets. Tears streak his face. “I won’t. I’ll stop. I’m sorry.” 

Used to Ash’s more violent nightmares, it takes Eiji’s half-asleep brain a moment to recognize what is happening. It takes him a moment beyond that to decide. He doesn’t trust Yut-Lung, isn’t sure this isn’t a manipulation to force him into a compromising situation. And he doesn’t like touching him. 

In the end, it’s the tears that decide him. Yut-Lung never shows weakness. He never begs. He never drops his guard. Eiji doesn’t know how far he would go to try to claim the affection he believes was Ash’s saving grace, but he’s pretty sure it wouldn’t even occur to him to try tears. Slowly, hesitantly, he crosses the room and haltingly grips his shoulder, gently shaking him. Yut-Lung freezes at his touch but doesn’t open his eyes. He seems to be holding his breath.

“It’s me. It’s Eiji. I’m here, and you’re safe. You are safe.” Eiji eased himself onto the edge of the bed, lying down on top of the expensive comforter Ash had never used. He stroked Yut-Lung’s arm, forcing himself to remain calm and gentle. This was a cruel parody of many of his nights with Ash, a cold reflection of the warm comfort they had shared. It made him feel slightly sick. But slowly, Yut-Lung’s body shifted slightly from the rigid stillness that had gripped it. Eiji moved to tentatively brush the sweaty hair from Yut Lung’s forehead, hoping to soothe him further. 

Instead, Yut-Lung bolted upright. In a heartbeat he grabbed Eiji’s hand at the wrist and arm just above the elbow. With a fluid grace that seemed to simply ignore the tangle of blankets, he spun upright, twisting Eiji’s arm up and away from his body, jamming his knee between his shoulder blades. Eiji cried out in surprised pain. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he snarled. “You will never touch me again!” He blinked then, in vague confusion as the room came into focus. 

He was already moving off of Eiji’s back when the door slammed open and Sing flew into the room dressed only in his boxers, but armed with a knife in both hands. “What the hell is going on?” He shouted while taking in the scene. He didn’t relax from his fighting stance. 

“Nightmare,” Eiji gritted out, massaging his shoulder. He sat up, but remained on the floor. 

“I apologize, Eiji,” Yut-Lung managed.

Sing put his knives down carefully. Yut-Lung was slowly edging away from the man he had inadvertently assaulted in his half-asleep panic. Sing took his arm and led him away from Eiji and back to his bed. Once there, Yut-Lung sat, stiffly at first, but when Sing asked “May I touch you?” before gingerly put a comforting arm around his shoulder he seemed to finally relax. Slowly he leaned into the touch. Sing didn’t move. He just sat offering a solid presence and nothing more. When Yut-Lung’s head landed on his shoulder, Sing looked to Eiji, unsure how to respond. 

Eiji smiled. “It is good to be able to comfort a friend,” he murmured. Sing’s eyes widened, but Eiji just quietly collected his knives and slipped out of the room. He slept on the couch that night. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but the relief he felt left him wrung out and ready to finally rest.

Maybe it isn’t too late for him. Maybe he already had what he needed. He just didn’t know how to reach it. 

Sing woke him the next morning. 

“How did you sleep?” 

“I didn’t. I couldn’t.” Sing seemed confused and a little overwhelmed.

“Why not?”

“Because I wasn’t afraid.” His brow furrowed. “I’ve been so afraid, so sure that he would kill me, so afraid that he would kill you. But that, whatever that was, it was--I’ve never seen him like that. He actually asked me to stay. Well, ok, demanded, but he did say please.”

Eiji smiled. “Friendship can be powerful.”

“Friendship?”

“Yes, Sing. Friendship. It’s been months since you sought out Yut-Lung as your only choice. Months of learning from him and fighting with him and seeing the difference that having a friend can make. Watching you, it reminds me a little bit of the way Shorter was with Ash. And that makes me happy.”

“Shorter?” 

“Yes. I didn’t know him for long. I wish I’d been able to know him better. But I know about him from Ash’s stories. And I know that having a friend can help you stay a little more human. I’m afraid to say, I don’t think Yut-Lung has had one before. It’s good he has one now.”

Sing smiled. “It is good. I, I never thought it was possible. But, it's good.” He looked over at Eiji. “How did you learn this voodoo?”

“Voodoo? I don’t know that word.”

“Magic. Ash, Shorter, now this. How do you know what to do?”

“I told you before Sing. I am not magic. And I did not know what to do. You did. Caring about a person, it isn’t magic. It’s better than magic, because magic isn’t real. I cared about Ash. I always will. I would give anything to go back and to save him. That isn’t magic, Sing. It’s just...love.” He looked away, his gaze growing wistful as he glanced at the closed door to the room where Yut-Lung still slept. “It isn’t always easy to care for a difficult person. But maybe you care for a difficult friend too, no?”

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”


	5. Affirmation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it is important to you that Ash and Eiji's relationship remain fully asexual, skip the italicized memory. 
> 
> I think it holds importance in terms of context and such, but it is a break with canon, and I did say this would be mostly canon compliant.

A few days later, Yut-Lung attempted to seduce Sing. Sing turned him down gently but firmly. He was happy to be friends, allies, or business associates. All three, even, but sex was off the table. 

Yut-Lung was confused more than hurt or angry. 

He had thought, stupid as it was, that he’d found the solution. It had felt...good...to let Sing hold him. He knew he was beautiful, confident that he was desirable. He also knew Sing preferred girls. But it had never been an issue for men in the past. He was skilled with his hands and mouth. He knew how to please a man. But that wasn’t what Sing wanted. He had spent a night in his bed and not pushed him beyond an arm on his shoulder. Yut-Lung was grateful. But now that his attempt at repayment had been rebuffed, he was at a loss for what to do.

He waited until Sing was gone, in class with a promise to visit the gang in Chinatown after, before approaching Eiji. He hated just asking. It felt safer, truer to demand. But he was learning that asking worked surprisingly well. In fact, both Sing and Eiji were significantly more likely to do as he asked if they weren’t forced. And with Ash dead, he had very little to hold over Eiji. It was odd, but honestly rather nice. He could ask for things he had no means to compel. 

And so, after eating food he didn’t want as a show of good faith and compliance to expectations, as he had been taught was proper, he told Eiji what happened. “It is an honor to be offered a night with Yut-Lung Lee. I have given myself to dignitaries and world leaders. Yet Sing turned it down. So what do I do?”

“What do you mean, what do you do?” Eiji looked at him in vague confusion. “Do you want to have sex with Sing?”

Want? It hadn’t really occurred to him one way or the other. “I want him to know I appreciate his gesture. He didn’t have to give it.” 

“He didn’t comfort you because he wanted a favor, Yut-Lung. He comforted you because he is your friend. He wanted you to feel comfort, not obligation.” Eiji watched the emotional confusion war with the intellectual understanding across Yut-Lung’s normally impassive face. Eiji waited. It was rare that he failed to school his features. He must be more bothered than he seemed.

It made perfectly logical sense, what Eiji was telling him. And yet it didn’t feel true. What did Sing _want_ from him? “He has to want something from me. What is it?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does he have to want something from you?" Yut-Lung only looked at him, clearly waiting for more. "You already know what Sing wants. He wants you to step up and help him control Chinatown. He wants you to protect the Chinese in this city. He wants you to teach him. He wants to be your friend. That is what he wants from you. That is all he wants from you.”

“How do you know?” he asked. He remembered the surveillance video he had watched so many times. He remembered Ash, bleeding on the floor and smiling up at a man who could kill him without a thought. This wasn’t the best feeling in the world. He didn’t think it was. But the idea that Sing didn’t want something in return, if it was true, it felt...pleasant, warm. 

Again intellect fought with instinct. You survived by knowing what would be expected of you. You made your decisions, gained advantage, by controlling what you gave and what you held back. This sort of exchange seemed too easy and too complicated all at once.

Eiji watched Yut Lung struggle with his words. He clearly wanted to tell him he didn’t know what he was talking about. He just as clearly wanted Eiji’s words to be true. Ash had done something similar once. He’d angrily implied that abuse and childhood horror didn’t exist in Japan. And in Eiji’s experience, they didn’t really. But it didn’t change what he knew. He hadn’t known how to respond to Ash. He had fumbled and stammered and utterly failed to express himself. He thought maybe he was more able to do so now.

“Terrible things happened to Ash, ever since he was a little boy. I think you understand, no? You are beautiful like him. And I remember you telling me once, that your brothers traded you like Golzine. But he didn’t want to kill Golzine. I mean he did. In his heart, he wanted to kill all of them. But in the world, Ash didn’t like to kill. He was used to it, though, the killing, and the way that others wanted him.” He wondered how much to say. But his words couldn’t hurt Ash anymore. Maybe they could help Yut-Lung. “He wanted someone to care about him. He wanted a friend that didn’t demand anything he wasn’t happy to give.” 

Yut-Lung watched Eiji’s face soften as he spoke. The boy smiled sadly, even as tears filled his eyes. For the first time he wasn’t angry to see it. He almost stopped Eiji when his voice cracked, but this, this was what he had longed to understand.

“He was like you a little at first. He was surprised, maybe a little confused, that I didn’t have any demands of him beyond his friendship. But once he realized, I think--” Eiji took a deep, shuddering breath, “I think he found a way to fix a broken part of himself. He could believe, at least a little, that if I could see him as someONE valuable without wanting, well, sex or drugs or power or any of the other things he’d been used to get. Well, maybe if I saw it, he could too.” He gave up on keeping the tears in check. “He t-told me once, that it was the best feeling in the world. M-maybe you could feel that too.”

There were those words again. The best feeling in the world. Was it? “What do _you_ want from me, Eiji?” He hadn’t meant to ask, but he suddenly desperately wanted to know.

“I want you to let me go.” Eiji looked away from him.

“Do you want to be my friend?” This thing Eiji had just described, that was what he wanted, that missing piece to make him feel human. 

“No.” Eiji met his hopeful gaze with one of deep sadness and regret. “I’m sorry. I will help you as much as I can. But I cannot trust you, Yut-Lung. And I cannot forgive you.”

He couldn't have been more shocked if Eiji had slapped him. He found himself frozen by the harsh dismissal. He knew what it meant to be unable to forgive. He knew, but he wanted...He needed, he had to... go. He had to get away from those words. Eiji, poor, pathetic, weak Eiji inexplicably held the key to his redemption. And he couldn’t pass it on--even if it meant his freedom or his life. 

“How--” Yut-Lung wasn't even sure what he was asking, just that he needed Eiji to say something else. The words rang in his head. Icannotforgiveyouicannotforgiveyouicannot...

“Find someone who cares for you. Find someone that wants you because you deserve to be wanted and cared for. I’m sorry, Yut-Lung, but it cannot be me. I am not magic. And I am not that good. I cannot ever love you.” Eiji stared unseeing at the floor between them. He seemed genuinely sorry but equally resolute.

For the first time Yut-Lung regretted his plot to kill the Lynx. He had done it to prove he could. He had done it to secure an alliance. He had done it because he had despised Ash and this quiet man before him for grasping so tightly to something that had seemed so pointless, so utterly devoid of worth. He wanted to prove he was right. But he had been so, so very wrong. And now that he understood just what he had destroyed…

He looked at Eiji, truly looked at the near fathomless depth of his grief. He had lost everything. His grief hadn’t hardened into hatred. He had kept his human heart, battered as it was. But Yut-Lung had broken the first crack, the first step that led to becoming someone like him, like Ash--No like Ash Could Have Been, if he hadn’t found friends instead of only allies. He looked, and he was truly, deeply ashamed.

***  
Dinner was quiet that night. Sing could feel a tense _something_ in the air, but he had no idea what it was. Yut-Lung seemed pensive rather than angry. Eiji seemed drained to the point of utter exhaustion. He picked at his food before clearing his near-full plate and returning to the table with tea. Yet he didn’t retreat. He was oddly...empty, like he had been ripped open and some vital part of him had escaped.

The silence had Sing so on edge he was ready to fight or flee at the slightest hint of conflict. But there wasn’t any. Just an interminable, heavy quiet he didn’t know how to breech. Even as the words sent a chill down his spine, he was still relieved to finally hear Yut-Lung speak.

“So tell me, Eiji. If it can’t be you. How do I find a man like you? How do I find a man who cares?” The last word was so bitter it stung. “It’s quite a quest, this man who doesn’t want anything.” His eyes flickered to Sing. How would he react? But Sing stayed very very still. “Because it seems easier just to fuck you. Then maybe it will all make sense. Maybe then I’ll see the point of finding a man who cares.”

“Do you really want one? A-a man, that is?” Eiji's voice held no curiosity. His eyes never rose from his teacup, but his cheeks flamed red.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Yut Lung looked at him. The way he blushed and stammered but kept going was rather impressive? Admirable? Something. Was this it? A different kind of courage? Was this what Ash had seen? It couldn’t be as simple as just caring, no matter what Eiji said. Even if he seemed to actually believe it. He glanced at Sing again, standing quiet sentinel by the window, doing his best to appear to not be listening. He wanted Sing to react, to do, well he wasn't sure what. But something. He remembered how he had looked down the barrel of the gun in his face and refused to leave. Maybe there was something to that idea after all. The courage of caring.

“Well, uh, it's just that, well...when we were with...Golzine, you told me. You told me that your brother had sent you to be a gift. And I remember I was so confused because I just knew that if Ash were there, or Shorter, they would fight.” Eiji looked away. “But then, you told me--told me about, well about how Ash understood because of...well because. And you said that you had been training since you were only six and that…” his eyes flashed to Sing, who maybe didn’t know about Ash or Yut-Lung. Maybe he shouldn’t. But Eiji wouldn’t be Eiji if he turned away from someone in pain, no matter how badly he wanted to. “Well I know that after everything, Ash, he didn’t really think about...sex...the same way. I just, um, I just wondered if you were looking for something different in the same place you’d always looked before.” Eiji looked back at him. “Maybe you don’t want to be with anyone. Or. Have you ever been with a woman? Do you want to?”

“Was your precious Ash ever with a woman?” He was angry. He wasn’t sure why. He knew all this already. It simply was the way things were. Was Eiji really this ignorant of reality, even now?

“He was, yes. Sometimes you have to do what you have to do. Ash was stunning, delicate and graceful, like you. And sometimes, he told me, sometimes you only have one way to pay.” Eiji had promised he would be honest, so he continued. “He had girlfriends too. Not many, but it was expected of a boss to have somebody. He, um, he said he didn’t mind it, but that sex with them was just...empty.” 

He felt rather than saw Sing stiffen. He wondered if his new maybe-girlfriend was something like that. Or maybe he just felt guilty for enjoying what he had found. Sometimes Eiji forgot that Sing was still only sixteen. 

“So you didn’t fuck.” Yut-Lung’s question was both crass and disbelieving.

“Ash didn’t think about sex like, well like regular people. He--for him it had always been a tool or a way to hurt him or control him. He didn’t hate it, but it just wasn’t something he wanted. At least most of the time. So no. We didn’t have sex, except…” Eiji trailed off. Not that. Surely even though he gave his word, he didn’t owe them that.

“Except?” Yut-Lung pounced. He seemed almost gleeful to be potentially proven right. 

“Except.” Eiji made it a statement, a full sentence all on its own. He closed his eyes. “I’m tired Yut-Lung. And my head hurts.” It wasn’t--quite--a lie. “We can talk more tomorrow.”

Yut-Lung considered refusing. But he’d made an agreement with Sing during one of their late night not-quite-shouting ‘discussions’. He wouldn’t push Eiji or hurt him. And something told him that if he pushed right now it would hurt him badly. For some reason he didn’t fully understand and didn’t want to look at too closely, he didn’t want to break his word to Sing. He knew just what look would cross his stupid face, and he didn’t want to see it. So instead of prodding at this crack to see if he could break it further open, he stood. “Come Sing. Eiji is tired, and I need a companion to join me for a drink.”

Sing shook himself visibly and turned. His face was carefully neutral, and his voice sounded mostly normal. “I’d enjoy a cup of tea,” he said. There was maybe a tiny bit of extra emphasis on the final word. He was getting better at schooling his reactions, Yut-Lung saw. He was...proud.

****  
Eiji locked the door to the bedroom. Let Yut-Lung find somewhere else to sleep tonight. His mind was spinning as memory gripped him.

_It wasn’t that they’d never talked about sex before. At this point, they’d talked about most things. He’d had questions, after his kidnapping. He had stammered and blushed, but although he teased him, Ash also answered all of his questions with blunt detachment._

_Tonight was different. Ash had been different all evening. He seemed resigned to something. Eiji had learned the habits of his volatile friend. Ash would tell him when he was ready, and prodding him before that would just result in stubborn silence at best and angry outbursts at worst. And so, when Ash had climbed into his bed and settled next to him, he had simply raised his arm silently and allowed Ash to snuggle in against his side._

_Eiji was no longer surprised that Ash allowed his touch, even encouraged it. When the guys were present, he kept his distance, but when they were alone, like now, he often melted into Eiji’s gentle embrace, often laying across his lap or leaning into his shoulder._

_Eiji couldn’t have known what prompted it. He couldn’t have known that Ash was facing a return to the life he’d fought so hard to get away from. He didn’t know that in less than thirty six hours Ash planned to trade himself body and soul back to Golzine and his sick bar full of helpless boys. He didn’t know. So he was surprised but not concerned when Ash asked his question._

_“What’s it like, Eiji, to have sex with someone who wants you as you?” He sounded wistful. “It must be nice, right? To be wanted as a person instead of a punishment or a payment. Or a toy.”_

_Eiji felt his heart break a little. “I. I don’t know, Ash. I’ve, um, never done it.”_

_“Oh.” He was silent for a time then, long enough for Eiji’s heart rate to return to normal. “I, when it happens, I hope you find someone that cares about you. Maybe even loves you. I bet it’s nice then. I always thought it would be.”_

_Again Ash fell silent. ‘Say Something!’ Eiji’s mind screamed at him. But he didn’t know what was going on, and he didn’t have any idea how he might help. So he pulled Ash closer to him, squeezing him gently in what he hoped was comforting affection. They stayed that way for a long time. Eiji’s mind had begun to wander, eyes drifting toward sleep when Ash spoke again._

_“Eiji?”_

_“Hmmm?”_

_“Can I-Can I kiss you? Just because I want to? Just this once?” Eiji’s eyes flew open, all thoughts of sleep long gone. “You can say no if you don’t want to. I won’t get mad.” He waited a beat while Eiji desperately tried to form some sort of response. Then he began to pull away. He touched Eiji’s cheek, barely a brush of the very tips of his fingertips. “Never mind. I don’t know what came over me.”_

_“Yes!” Eiji blurted. “I mean,yes. I would like it if you kissed me.”_

_Ash’s hand returned to his cheek before slipping to the back of his head. He threaded his fingers gently through Eiji’s hair, holding his eyes with his gaze as he searched for something. Eiji’s heart was racing and it felt a little hard to breathe, but he waited, looking back earnestly, hoping Ash could see his acceptance, his excitement. Yes. Yes, you can kiss me. Anything you want. Always._

_Ash must have seen whatever it was he was looking for because he leaned forward slowly, using his hand to angle Eiji’s head as he pecked his lips once, twice, three times before pushing forward with more pressure._

_It wasn’t his first kiss. It wasn’t even the first time Ash had kissed him. But this time he wasn’t shocked at the invasion. This time. This time he gasped at the intensity of feeling in such a small touch, such a simple gesture. Ash took advantage, flicking his tongue forward and pulling back only to push forward with more intent, licking gently and then more fervently into his mouth._

_Eiji felt like he might combust. He didn’t even remember turning his body or fisting his hands into Ash’s shirt. When Ash tugged him further forward he went more than willingly, arms sliding around Ash’s waist as his chest pressed forward. He didn’t know how long the kiss lasted, completely lost in the way Ash nipped gently at his lips before pressing forward again. But when Ash finally pulled away, he followed, making a near-unconscious sound of complaint at the loss._

_He blushed, blinking as he tried to bring himself back under some semblance of control. Finally he found Ash’s eyes. He wasn’t sure what to expect, probably his usual cocky self-assurance. Instead he was shocked to see the same awed amazement he was feeling himself. Ash was staring at him, eyes wide, a tiny smile playing around his kiss-pinked lips._

_Wow._

_“Ash?” He licked his lips. “Can_ I _kiss_ you _?” He waited, but at Ash’s rather stunned nod, he lunged forward, doing his best to take the lead._

_After a time, Ash had maneuvered them until they were laying down, which freed up his hands to run through wild blond hair, to feel the way the muscles of his shoulders flexed as he wrapped his arms around Eiji to pull him closer._

_Eiji might be inexperienced, but Ash knew intimately how to please a partner. Eiji felt his lips quirk into a smile against his skin when he shifted his lips from his mouth to his neck just below his ear and Eiji made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a groan. He shivered from the intensity of the sensations as Ash kissed and licked his way down his throat to his collarbone. He felt like a live wire just sparking wildly, and when he hissed in pleasure at the sensation of Ash’s teeth grazing his sensitive skin Ash pulled up to smile down at him with a wild joy before recapturing his mouth with what could only be described as hunger._

_As they continued, Eiji gained confidence, allowing his hands to roam, trying to touch as much skin as he could. He had giggled in heady glee at the sound Ash made when his fingers grazed his nipple. Then he paused. Maybe…”Is it?” He started to ask, but Ash interrupted him “It’s fantastic, Eiji. You’re fantastic.” He felt himself blush at Ash’s words, but reached out tentatively pushing his shirt away to rub the pad of his finger over the pebbled flesh of Ash’s nipple once again._

_“It’s ok, Eiji. You can touch me however you want.” Ash looked down at him, some strong emotion showing clearly on his face. “I trust you.”_

_The feelings that rushed through him with those words were almost enough to drown out the arousal now pulsing throughout his whole body. Almost. “You’ll stop me?”_

_“No. But only because I don’t want to.”_

_Eiji grazed his fingers down Ash’s chest, watching his face as the muscles jumped and twitched beneath his fingers. He licked his lips and watched Ash gulp. “Eiji,” he whispered, tracing his fingers across his cheek, skimming them down his neck. Lines of fire followed Ash’s fingers along his skin._

_Somehow he was still surprised when he slipped his hand down to find Ash as hard and straining as he was. Just the feel of the weight and heat of his member in his hand, even through his clothes, sent a bolt of pure electricity shooting through Eiji’s body. He closed his fingers, squeezing slightly, and Ash let out a quiet moan._

_Eiji wanted something… more. He felt overwhelmed but at the same time completely safe. He looked up to see Ash biting his lip, watching him, his pupil blown so wide Eiji could see only the smallest ring of green surrounding them._

_And suddenly Eiji knew what he wanted. “Ash?”_

_“Yes, Eiji?” He sounded breathless._

_“You...care...about me, don’t you?”_

_“Of course! Why would…” He saw the moment Ash realized what he was actually saying. “Are, are you sure?”_

_Eiji kissed him then. “I trust you. I, I want to.” He blushed. “But, I don’t really know what to do.”_

_Ash smiled sweetly then. “I can show you.” He reached for Eiji with a confident hand. His eyes, though. His eyes glowed with something powerful and raw and a little unsure. “We can stop whenever you want. You just tell me, ok? Say stop and it’s done.”_

_Eiji smiled before tossing Ash’s words back to him. “I won’t, but only because I don’t want to stop.”_

_Ash was gentle and generous. He set out to see first with his hands, then his mouth, just how Eiji liked to be touched. He patiently led him through the weirdness of prep and the initial discomfort of penetration. And he shouted his own enjoyment as he finally stroked Eiji through his climax._

_After, Eiji lay in his arms, sweaty and sticky and a little sore. He felt amazing._

_Ash was quiet, but he remained relaxed as he held Eiji, head pillowed on his chest. For a time, Eiji just basked in the new ache in his muscles, the soothing motion of Ash’s fingers trailing up and down his back._

_He shifted, rolling to rest his chin on his hands. He looked at Ash, who smiled down at him gently. The haunted look from earlier was back in his eyes._

_“Are you ok, Ash?”_

_“I’m fine, Eiji. Just thinking.”_

_“About what?”_

_“I was right. It is nice.” He smiled then, but he still seemed sad. “I’m glad I got the chance to find out.”_

_“What? What does that mean?” Eiji was beginning to feel alarmed. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked...he knew...they’d talked before. Maybe…_

_“Relax, Eiji. It doesn’t mean anything.” He kissed the top of his head. “It’s late. Get some sleep.”_

The next time Eiji stirred, he was alone in the bed. Ash’s place was cold. He just had time to start to worry when he heard Ash’s voice next to him. “I will not forgive anyone who hurts you. Never. If you ever wonder if it was worth it. It was. Everything. It was worth it.” He could hear the tears in his voice. Half asleep, Eiji fought the paralysis that seemed to grip him. How long had Ash knelt on the floor beside his bed? 

He heard the bed springs creak, felt them dip as Ash stood. He stilled, sensing more than seeing Ash reach out for him in the dim light. He wanted to turn into the touch but didn’t want to shatter whatever was happening. The fingers never reached him. Instead Ash drew his hand back, standing for just a second with his fingers balled into a fist.

“Be happy, Eiji.” Ash whispered. And then he was gone. Eiji hadn’t known where until Yut-Lung told him days later.

***

Eiji curled in on himself, doing his best to keep his sobs silent as memory rolled over him. No. He would keep his word. He would try to help Yut-Lung find his humanity. But not that. They couldn’t have that. Couldn’t touch it. It was precious. And it was his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendship is NOT a consolation prize. 
> 
> It is possible to deeply and meaningfully care for someone in a completely platonic way.


	6. Redemption

A few days later, Yut-Lung approached Eiji in the kitchen. He waited almost nervously as Eiji lit the burner under the teapot before he spoke. “Eiji, I--” He licked his lips, body language betraying discomfort in a way that he wouldn’t have allowed months prior. He glanced at Sing, who nodded but didn’t enter the room. He was on his own. “I have something for you.” He thrust out a key. “I know you don’t trust me. I understand about unforgivable things. I--” He looked to Sing again, only receiving a second encouraging nod. “I have decided to trust you. So. You can leave, if you want. I have work that I’ve neglected for too long. And, while I’m gone... “ 

He hated this tentative, sniveling version of himself, stammering out overly emotional garbage. He hardened his voice “If you fail to return each night by six pm, I’ll have you brought back. You know I can, and you know it will not be pleasant. Do not disappoint me, Eiji Okumura.” He heard Sing sigh behind him.

“So close,” he muttered.

Yut-Lung felt an odd stabbing feeling at Sing’s clear disappointed disapproval. He just didn’t like that Yut-Lung hadn’t stuck to the script they’d devised. He told himself that was all. But he was too smart to believe his own lies.

“Thank you, Yut-Lung,” was all Eiji said.

***  
Eiji didn’t use the key the first day. He kept it with him. He even found himself playing with it throughout the day. He was pretty sure this was some sort of test. He just wasn’t sure who was being tested or what the criteria were to pass. But when, by the third day, Yut-Lung and Sing had left together once again with no threat or admonition, he decided he no longer cared.

He had believed he had wanted them to leave him alone. But here, on his own, it was too much, too familiar, too haunted by ghosts and memories. He found himself waiting to hear Ash’s footsteps approach the door, caught himself training his camera on the building across the street, stopped himself over and over as he made shopping lists that unconsciously included Ash’s favorite foods and turned on music he knew would soothe the man his mind kept forgetting would not be coming home. He felt himself slowly going crazy, trapped here in this broken image of the home he had cherished. 

When, on the morning of the fourth day, he barely stopped himself from calling out to Ash to welcome him home when he heard a door close down the hallway, he decided that unpleasant consequences or not, he couldn’t stay here and stay sane. He grabbed the key and left the apartment. It was oddly anticlimactic. Nothing at all happened. 

He found himself nervous after so much time spent locked away. He’d missed entire seasons. At first he ventured only to the grocery store on the ground floor, but when a lovely older woman whose name had escaped him recognized him and asked about his “lovely young partner” Eiji had bolted. He wandered the city, unsure what to do with himself. He started toward the library, to pay his respects or to feel close to Ash or only to see the final place he had rested; he wasn’t sure. It didn't matter, because he couldn’t force himself to go inside. He shook as he gazed up at the doors, mere steps and miles away. What he would give to do it over. He’d crawl if he had to. He’d beg to be carried. He’d--he didn’t know. But he wouldn’t have sent that letter. He would have found Ash himself, told him--Told him everything. 

He didn’t realize he was crying until someone asked if he was ok. He pretended not to speak English to avoid having to utter a pretty lie.

He bought but failed to eat one of Ash’s disgustingly mustard covered hotdogs, raising it in a salute to the library that was now hidden from sight by some trees. Their leaves were just beginning to change. It was actually really lovely. He wished he had his camera. Ash would have loved the way the green was shading to a deep red. He had wanted to see the Japanese maples that grew near Eiji’s father’s home. They had wanted so much.

A small movement to his left caught his attention. He had learned the hard way to notice when he was being followed. He’d had these two guards from the moment he’d left the building. He wondered if there were only two. Ash had taught him carefully to see the signs. Ash had… He turned from the train of thought before he was sobbing over a hotdog on the streets of New York. He had never been overly focused on appearances, but even he didn’t want that. Instead he turned to offer a second salute to Yut-Lung’s Chinese guard detail, tossed away the hotdog he couldn’t bring himself to eat, and headed back to the apartment.

Yut-Lung had simply smiled when he returned. And Sing seemed delighted that he had gotten out into the world. 

A few days later, he went out again, this time with his camera. And the following week, with Sing’s help, he reached out to Alex and later to Kong and Bones, visiting his old friends. It was good to see them. They laughed when he took their pictures. 

Slowly, he began to spend more time away from the apartment. And just as slowly, he began to relax and to heal. He made connections within the old gang, met some of Sing’s closer associates. He continued the work that had brought him and Ibe here a lifetime ago. 

And Yut-Lung continued to shift his perspective. He never quite let go of his imperious demeanor, but he had control now. When he laughed it was from actual humor rather than twisted cruelty. He had taken them all out for dinner the night Sing finally beat him at Go. 

As fall became winter, Yut-Lung began to leave for longer and longer stretches of time. He could be heard on the phone at odd hours speaking in fluid Chinese. He brought in a lap-top and began discussing markets and provinces in China after dinner with Sing. 

Workman arrived, turning one of the bedrooms into a dark room for Eiji's photography. A second bed was moved into Sing’s room, and Eiji was left alone without the interloper in Ash’s bed. Alex had given him Ash’s old computer, saying that he had left it for him. It was a blessing and a curse to hear Ash’s thoughts in his own voice. Eiji spent hours pouring over his thoughts on everything from governmental policy on educational reform to the latest blockbuster movie. It hurt, but it was so wonderful too. Especially the essay he’d written on the meaning of Love. Eiji read and reread that, cherishing the events and phrases he also remembered. 

And life went on. If only he could just walk away, Eiji would say things were good. He was surprised at that realization, but it was true.

***  
The door slammed open. “Eiji!” Sing’s voice sounded upset but not panicked. Still, slamming doors and yelling voices would forever mean danger to Eiji. And so he entered the living area quickly and with no small amount of trepidation. Sing, along with one of the ever-present guards that always seemed to appear if he decided to go out, was maneuvering Yut-Lung toward the couch. He was pale, but clearly conscious. Blood ran freely down his right leg, oozing from a clear gash in his thigh.

“What happened?” Eiji asked, even as he moved toward the first aid kit. It would need to be stitched. Max had taught him how, but it had been a long time. He hoped he could convince them to just go to a hospital, but their presence here rather than there implied that it wasn’t likely. Still, “Why are you here and not at a hospital. That is going to need stitches.”

“It, It’s important that it not be known that he was injured,” huffed the guard. Eiji thought his name was Hung-Ji, but he wasn’t sure.

He looked at the carefully packaged sutures and made his decision. “Yut-Lung has a private physician. I’ll clean the wound, even stitch it, but you two go get him. Gun shot wounds can cause fevers. You can’t tell me that someone employed by the Lees wouldn’t be discreet.”

Hung-Ji nodded curtly, already pulling away. But Sing hesitated. “I. Maybe I should stay?”

“You are the boss of the Chinese gangs. You are a known associate of Yut-Lung Lee. You stand on his authority. I’ve heard you say that. You could call for his physician because he has a headache or food poisoning. What authority do I have to call? He needs a doctor. And you need to get him, Sing. It will be ok.”

“Go, Sing. It’s fine.” Yut-Lung didn’t even sound like he was in pain. In fact, he seemed irritated more than anything else. Irritated and perhaps bewildered. Eiji had become intimately familiar with Yut Lung’s look of confused caring.

When the other men left, he settled himself, pouring antiseptic onto a piece of gauze before beginning to wipe blood away from the wound. “So what happened?” he asked again, keeping his eyes on his hands and his voice casual. Yut-Lung stilled like a rabbit before the fox. He was silent long enough that Eiji was just deciding to let it go and ask Sing about it later when he answered.

“Another punk felt that he would be a better boss of the Chinese gangs. He doesn’t like that Sing is a student, nor that he has associated with traitors to the Chinese people. I don’t know if he meant Ash for killing Shorter, or you for associating with the other gangs, or even me for killing my brothers. But he certainly yelled a bit about Chinese honor.” He grimaced as Eiji poured more antiseptic over the wound, but continued, “Sing turned down his challenge. Said if the gangs didn’t want to follow him, they didn’t have to.” He hissed air in through his teeth as Eiji decided the wound was as clean as he could make it and had set about the first stitch. “He pulled the gun when Sing turned his back. Idiot. But, I couldn’t let the fool get shot, could I? So I pushed him out of the way.”

Eiji smiled up at him a moment. “I’m familiar with the impulse.”

Yut-Lung returned his rather sardonic smile with interest “I guess you are.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I put Sing’s knife through his throat and got a bullet in the thigh for my trouble.” He paused. “I don’t really know why I did it.”

“Why you killed him?”

Yut-Lung looked at Eiji incredulously. “No. Killing the shooter was simple necessity. I killed him because he dared to defy the order I have set forth. I will not allow that. Sing is my chosen leader in Chinatown. This upstart will serve as an excellent example to other fools who forget that I am Yut-Lung Lee. My word is law.” He paused. “I don’t know why I pushed him. I don’t know why I--the shot probably wouldn’t have killed him. The angle was wrong. I knew it.”

Eiji hummed but didn’t answer. 

“It is best to be seen as unassailable when you rule. It is Sing’s job as my lieutenant to take the bullet for me. I know that. It was a tactical mistake to do what I did.” He looked confused, cut adrift, fighting, as he so often did, the battle between logical knowledge and emotional response. “So why did I step in? Do you know?”

“I think so. But I don’t think you’ll like it.”

It was Yut-Lung’s turn to offer a noncommittal hum. He watched as Eiji placed his third stitch. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Max taught me basic field dressing. Then, Japan. No one thinks it’s strange to wish to learn how to stitch a wound when you almost bleed to death.” Eiji’s voice was harsh, filled with a quiet anger he rarely showed. Yut-Lung didn’t respond. He still knew how to wait. “Besides, I couldn’t forget that if someone had been there, if they could have closed the wound...maybe,” His voice softened into something filled with deep longing. “He deserved to live more than anyone I have ever met. He deserved to live free and loved. You think I don’t understand, Yut-Lung, but I do. I understand what it means to finally find something precious. Something you didn’t even realize you were missing. And I know what it feels like to almost lose it--to actually lose it.”

“Precious?” Yut Lung started to interrupt, but Eiji cut him off.

“Yes, precious. That’s the secret. You don't recognize it because you've never felt it before, but it is clear as the glass in these windows. You care about him, Yut-Lung. You care that he is safe and well. He is your friend, and you care. So you wanted to save him. And you did. I’m proud of you..” 

Yut-Lung blinked at him. “Is it really that simple?” 

“It really is. You have asked and asked about what was between Ash and me. You say you want to understand. The simplest way to say it, why we found each other, why we held each other, even when everyone we knew, everything we had lived, said it was foolish, is just that. Caring. It’s true that he needed me. And I needed to be needed. But it was so much more. He needed someone who wasn’t afraid, wasn’t appalled. He needed someone that saw past his beauty and the coldness he wore like armor to the person he was meant to be-- if he had been allowed. I don’t have a gun. I don’t have an agenda. I never wanted anything from him he didn’t want to give me wholeheartedly and freely. I never wanted to own him. I never wanted to control him. I just wanted to be his friend. Nothing else. Not sex or power. And maybe, at first, it was that simple. But I admired his mind. I loved the way he found ways to take such care of the things he deemed important, the things he loved. The world tried to teach him over and over that no one wanted him as a human being, just as a pawn or a toy or something else distasteful. Even his mother didn’t want him. Even Griffin left him. He was brilliant and strong and stunningly beautiful. And he was so alone.” Tears streaked Eiji’s face as he spoke, but his voice didn’t waver. 

“And in my own small way, I had lost my own world. In Japan, the pressure to be the very best is intense. And I almost was. I know pole vaulting isn’t life or death, but the competition certainly made it feel that way. And the people who valued what you could do, how you could perform, they didn’t see a person. They saw a number, they saw prestige for their gym. It’s not the same. But maybe it let me understand just enough.”

“He told me once that he wanted to protect me because I was innocent. At the time I argued. I’ve always known Griffin being killed, Shorter-- it was because of me. I wasn’t innocent. I was so profoundly, incredibly guilty. But after a while, I realized that wasn’t what he meant. He meant I didn’t know about the horrors that were his world. And when I saw them, I didn’t blame him. It took him a long time to understand that--that I didn't blame him, couldn’t hate him for things that had never been his fault. I guess I _was_ innocent. I didn’t understand how dangerous it was for him to love me. I didn’t care how dangerous it was for me to love him.”

“In the end, the truth so, so simple. I didn’t love him because he needed me or because he protected me or anything like that. I loved him because he was good. He was so deeply, wonderfully good. I loved him because it never occurred to me not to. I will love him until the day I die, and on that day I will regret that I couldn’t love him even longer.”

Eiji looked up, surprised to see Yut Lung crying. “I see--I see why he loved you.” 

They looked at each other for what seemed like a long time. Eiji could see it, clear as day. Yut-Lung had found it, buried in his concern for perhaps his first true friend. He cared about Sing. And in that caring, he had found the tiny ember of his humanity. For almost a year, Eiji had despaired of ever seeing it. But there, in his eyes, was the understanding Yut-Lung had instinctively known he needed to survive beyond rage and revenge.

Finally, Yut-Lung looked away. The odd mood finally broken, Eiji looked down, finishing his wrapping around the neatly stitched injury on his thigh. “All finished.” He smiled with genuine caring for this stubborn, viper of a man. “After you see the doctor, I’m sure you’ll be good as new.”

Yut-Lung watched Eiji’s hands as he gathered up the first aid supplies. “Thank you, Eiji.” 

Eiji heard the words and knew they covered more than four stitches and a simple bandage. “Dōitashimashite, Yut-Lung. You’re welcome.”

“Wait here.” Yut-Lung leapt up, hissing as he put weight on his leg. He wobbled slightly for a moment but kept going. He paused at the door to his room. “Please,” he added with a quick glance over his shoulder.

Eiji stilled, the remains of the dirty gauze and packaging crushed in his hands. He felt at peace. It had felt good to say it out loud. He hadn’t talked so candidly with anyone in so very long. He could almost feel Ash’s smile. “I am so proud to have loved you,” he whispered quietly. He hoped that wherever Ash was, he had heard it all.

Eiji startled slightly when Yut-Lung dropped back onto the couch in front of him. He pushed an envelope at Eiji. Thrusting it forward not quite aggressively. He looked odd, intense. It was unsettling. 

“This is for you.” He waited expectantly as Eiji held the envelope but made no move to open it.

“What is it?”  
  
“I asked you once, a long time ago, what you wanted from me. Do you remember?” Yut-Lung watched him closely. When Eiji nodded once, tentatively, he continued. “You said you wanted me to let you go.”  
  
Again Eiji nodded slowly. The envelope in his hand crinkled slightly as his fingers convulsed around the paper. There was something hard inside it. “I said I didn’t want to be your friend. I don’t think that’s quite true anymore.”  
  
“I’m glad.” Yut-Lung smiled. It was a real smile. His eyes sparkled. “I am really glad. I would be honored to be your friend. But even if that were not possible, you have fulfilled your end of the bargain. I understand, I think, why he chose you." He gestured at the crumpling paper. "Open it.”  
  
Eiji honestly had no idea what to expect. He opened the envelope. Inside, there was a folded sheet of paper and a key. Eiji held the key, weighing it in his palm. “I don’t understand.”  
  
“It was Sing’s idea.” Yut-Lung still watched. “He said we made a deal. And that I should keep my end of it. You have only ever asked for Freedom. I cannot give you what you truly want, Eiji Okumura. I cannot give you back the Lynx. But I can give you the freedom he craved.”  
  
Eiji’s hands shook so badly he almost dropped the key. He could barely hold the paper as he unfolded it, couldn’t read it through his blurring, tearful eyes. “It’s a deed?” His mind wasn’t processing. "To what--I don't want this place, please Yut-Lung, I appreciate...but I..."

"It's not a deed to this apartment. This is to a real home, away from this place, this life."

"You're giving me a deed to a home? What? That's--  
  
“Yes. The deed is to a home in SoHo. The key, the deed, the property itself. It’s yours. It's already in your name.”  
  
“You, you bought me a house?” He sounded strangled, shocked disbelief and deep concern radiated from him. “Yut Lung, that’s crazy. You can’t just… Why? HOW?”  
  
“I didn’t buy you anything. I just discovered it.” That didn’t seem to make Eiji feel calmer. If anything, he seemed even more disturbed. “Sing doesn’t know about this. No one knows." His excitement dimmed for a moment, replaced by a look of shame. "I hadn't ever really intended to tell you. I was happy once, to keep it from you." He paused again, smiling a little nervously. "One of my detectives found the paperwork. It was already in your name, purchased a little over two years ago.”  
  
“Two years? But that means…”  
  
“That Ash bought you a house as well as a ticket to Japan. Yes.”  
  
Eiji just stared at him. “Why?” he breathed.  
  
“I didn’t know. Not for a very long time. But I think I do now. Why would he buy you a home here when he was so desperate to send you far away? Ash wanted you to leave, he wanted you to be safe. But he also wanted you to be with him. I think, in the end, he decided to give you the greatest gift he could imagine.”  
  
“The freedom to choose.”   
  
“I believe so, yes.”  
  
Yut-Lung watched as Eiji very slowly and very quietly fell apart. He clutched the paper to his chest, the key gripped so hard he wondered if it would break the skin. He was curled in on himself shuddering with the force of silent sobs. He was unsure, suddenly. He hadn’t expected this reaction. Or maybe he had? Sing had said to let him go, to send him home. Had he guessed incorrectly? Should he have just sent him back to Japan? Should he have kept this secret after all? He thought…  
  
He thought that he didn’t want Eiji to go back. He wanted him here. He wanted Sing to keep his friend. He wanted...he wanted him to stop crying. He didn’t know what to do. He thought about trying to hug him, but he knew Eiji didn’t like it when he touched him. He was beginning to panic a little. He was still new at figuring out how this caring about people thing worked, and he really wished he’d waited until Sing was here to help him figure this all out. But he hadn't wanted to admit to Sing that he hadn't intended to give this gift to Eiji at all...  
  
And then Eiji smiled. “Thank you,” he gasped out, sniffling. Something he had never looked at too closely finally settled in him. Ash hadn't wanted him to go. He had still wanted him to stay at his side. “This is...thank you.”  
  
Yut-Lung smiled. Ah. Ok. “Go home Eiji.” 


End file.
